chroma
by pennywhistles
Summary: "Painting is self-discovery. Every good artist paints what he is." - Jackson Pollock. /robertrosalind


**A/N:** do u ever just. have a ship come out of nowhere and consume you until you can't even think about anything else and one day it's 3am and you can't sleep then you just kind of throw up a fic about them

that's what happened here basically. i've been tinkering with this like all day and i hope it doesn't suck but if it does let me know! also let me know if it doesn't [thumbs up emoji]

soundtrack: valses sentimentales op. 50

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><p>"You'll have to sit still if I'm ever going to finish."<p>

Robert did not sound agitated in the least, though Rosalind was certain he had every right to be. As such, she felt more inclined to obey him.

Unfortunately, regardless of how hard she tried to sit perfectly still, the truth of the matter was that she could not. She was restless by nature, found it tremendously difficult to be idle for longer than a few moments at a time. Her hands felt too empty without something to tinker with, her mind too quiet without something to focus on.

Thus, the fidgeting.

"I'm trying." She replied after a moment, scowling at the wood floor. "I'm not very good at this."

"You're doing fine." Robert replied gently. "And I understand why you're having trouble, in any case. I'm sure that I would be restless too, if our positions were switched." He punctuated his words with a long swipe of his paintbrush along her bare back, gliding it smoothly from the bottom of her neck to the base of her spine.

It had been Robert's idea to do this. Rosalind enjoyed art on a surface level, appreciated it for what it was. But it did not speak to her, not the way it spoke to Robert. It was a passion for him. And perhaps she was not so interested in art herself, but she was certainly interested in _Robert's_ interest.

As such, when he asked to paint her, she very seldom refused. After all, it was a mutually beneficial arrangement - he got to paint, and she got to watch him as he did so.

And so when he presented her with this newest idea, to paint _on_ her, Rosalind had agreed without much thought. She had assumed her expectations would be more or less the same.

Wrongfully assumed, it seemed.

Rosalind sighed, glancing down at her arms, glossy and wet with fresh paint. "I suppose I prefer to be the subject of a painting, as opposed to the canvas."

She could hear the smile in his voice as easily as if she had seen it outright.

"I do believe the subject of a painting is ordinarily expected to sit still as well."

Rosalind did not ever mind his teasing, even when it was condescending. She indulged him this as she knew he would indulge her, refrained from rolling her eyes even though he could not see her face from where he stood.

"I _know_. But less still, I have discovered, than the canvas."

Robert hummed thoughtfully as he considered that. "I'm sure you're right." He conceded after a moment.

She said nothing, silently filed away the victory in her head.

Their little debate had been momentarily stimulating, but with the distraction of an argument gone she felt herself begin to fidget once more. Without thinking she reached her arms above her head to stretch - the noise Robert made as she did so told her immediately that she had disturbed the paint in some way. She also knew that he had no plans to scold her for it, and she was right - he simply let out a resigned sigh, reached for the container of body paint remover on her left.

"I'm sorry." She apologized anyway, feeling equal parts childish and frustrated. She held herself to such high standards - it was rather difficult to come to terms with the knowledge that she was not even capable of sitting quietly for an hour.

"None of that." Robert replied fondly, rubbing away at a spot on the side of her hip with a damp cloth. "It isn't anything I can't fix. Would you like me to get you a book to read?"

Rosalind's frown deepened. "But we can't talk and read at the same time." She replied, knowing full well that she was being whiny.

"You don't have to talk to me while I do this."

"I know that, but I _want_ to. I like talking to you." She huffed, irritated now, mostly at herself. Robert was always so patient with her - it tended to make her a little petulant, sometimes.

He never seemed to mind.

"Of course you do." He replied, amused. "I like talking to you too." Rosalind had been fully aware of this, but it was nice to hear all the same. "I'm almost finished, as it is." Robert added, eyes narrowing the way she knew her own did when she was focused on something important.

His statement surprised her a bit - her torso looked complete, certainly - she was covered in swirls of paint from her hips to the underside of her chin. But anything south of that was still bare, fair skin and stark red freckles.

He seemed to follow her train of thought, as he often did, and added a clarification. "Not with the whole piece, just with the top half. You'll need to stand for me to do the rest."

Rosalind tried not to groan, and failed.

Robert laughed warmly. "Don't worry, dearest, I've scheduled a break between the two. We'll have dinner."

She pursed her lips but did not offer any further protest, placated primarily by his usage of a pet name and the promise of a meal.

"Fine." She agreed after a moment, as he'd known she would. As she'd known he'd known she would.

As she always did.

It took Robert only a few more minutes to finish, and Rosalind managed to sit (mostly) still until he was done. He asked her to stand and she complied without a fuss, letting him appraise the paint as it dried on her skin. He looked pleased, and she was happy for him - they hated nothing more than to be dissatisfied with their own work.

She had to consciously resist the urge to cross her arms as he looked over her work - she was not embarrassed to be naked in front of him, by any means, and was as used to him studying her body as he was to her studying his. But it was cold in the laboratory, and she certainly couldn't ask him for a coat or a blanket.

An involuntary shiver went through her and Robert's gaze snapped upwards from the paint to meet her eyes, immediately concerned. "Are you cold?"

"Only a bit." She lied, not wanting to worry him. He saw right through it, of course, and rolled his eyes. Rosalind resisted the immediate urge to mirror the gesture.

"Let me make you some tea." He suggested, and she blinked, inwardly impressed. He often seemed to think of solutions that she could not, catch things where she missed them, pick up on clues or hints while she overlooked them entirely.

Of course, he would say the same of her. They worked well, in that sense. Better together than apart.

The thought made her smile.

"Good idea." She replied, absently reaching out to brush a piece of lint from his shirt. "I suppose I'll wait here."

He looked surprised. "Why?" It was not often that they separated voluntarily, even just to different rooms.

Rosalind could feel herself smirking. "There are many, many windows in the kitchen, brother. I shouldn't like to startle the neighbors."

His eyebrows furrowed, then lifted in understanding. "Ah." He replied. "Good idea. Although, I'm not sure 'startle' is the correct word... Perhaps you mean entice?"

He was grinning. She rolled her eyes. It was far too cold for teasing.

"Semantics." She replied airily instead, pushing Robert gently in the direction of the kitchen.

He only laughed. "Alright, alright, I'm going." He conceded, and kissed the palm of her hand before starting towards the door. Rosalind smiled to herself, closed her hand around the lingering warmth as she watched him leave.

"By the way," He called to her after a moment, presumably from somewhere on the stairs. "Would you have a look in the mirror? I'd like your opinion on the painting so far."

Never one to begrudge him, Rosalind made her way towards one of the many mirrors in their lab, standing in front of it and admiring the paint adorning her body. It was very intimate. And lovely, of course, as all his art was. But it was a bit more subtle than she'd envisioned - all solid colors and simplistic patterns.

"I like it." She called back down after a few more moments of consideration. "But it's less intricate than your work usually is. Any particular reason why?"

"I wanted the focus to be on you." He replied immediately, and the words filled her with a pleasant warmth. Rosalind did not bother to fight against her smile, simply closed her hand tighter around where he'd kissed it, wondered if she would need the tea after all.


End file.
